Two shots

Ebony, Nov, 1998 by Dawn C. Harrison

Am I really doing this? I can't believe I'm doing this. Who would have thought years back when I was standing before the judge that six years later I'd be doing this? If anyone had told me --

"Joe," asked a soft voice outside the bedroom door, "are, you filling out that application?"

"Yep, I mean, yes, Ma El, I'm doing it now," I answered.

"All right, young man. I want to read it after you've, finished," the voice said while moving slowly down the hall and out of range.

You would think an application for enrollment to college would be short and simple. I mean, with all the applicants, those professors are going to be sorry they didn't condense these things.

Like, this question, for example ...

"Name the person, or persons, real, or fictional, and/or a life-changing event that influenced you to pursue a higher education."

The answer is easy It's the event that's hard to explain. But, like Ma El always says, "You study long . . . you study wrong."

So I write:

The person who influenced me the most to pursue higher education is my mother, Eloise Jackson. The life-changing event that influenced me most was my 12th birthday, the day I tried to rob her.

You see, six years ago Eloise Jackson wasn't my mother. My mother was a crack addict who threw me out of our home when I was 11 because her boyfriend, also a crack addict, thought I ate too much. So, for a year I stayed in various shelters, leaving whenever the social service people would show up and ask questions about my family. I didn't really know what I was going to do without my mom, but I knew I didn't want anything to do with social service people. They seemed to have a way of making the little kids at the shelters disappear.

I did my best to stay out of trouble, but it wasn't long before I began to steal. First I stole stuff I needed, like socks and other clothes from the five-and-dime store. Then I stole stuff I wanted, like toys and candy. I saw other children at the park with things their parents had bought them, and I didn't understand why I shouldn't have those things too. Stealing became second nature to me, and I considered myself very good at it because I never got caught . . . until my 12th birthday.

It was a cold, damp Sunday morning, and I was sitting on a park bench stabbing it with a fork I had kept from breakfast at a nearby shelter. I remember sitting there daydreaming. In the dream I was in school and my mom came in with a big cake and all the kids were singing "Happy Birthday" to me. A cold wind blew across my face, and I realized I was crying . . . That's when Eloise walked past me, nodding and saying good morning. She was dressed for church, and dressed fine too, right down to her fur coat with matching hat.

I don't know what made me decide to rob her. All I know is that I followed her through the park, and just before she reached the street, I ran up to her with my fork in my hand, and demanded her purse. "Give it to me now, lady," I said, "or I'm gonna stick you!"

She was startled at first, then she looked me straight in the eye and said, "Baby, get on out of here before the police drive by. There's nothing in this purse but my tithe, and I'm not givin' you that, so go on!"

"Lady, I ain't playin' wit' you", I yelled in a panic. "Give me the purse, or I'll stick you, I swear.!"

"Baby, look at me," she said calmly, "do I look like a rich woman to you? You think I've got money to just give away to whoever comes along? Look, I've got a gun in my pocket, and if you don't get out of my face, I'm going to shoot you."

That almost made me laugh out loud, this little woman, almost two heads shorter than me, talkin' about she had a gun. I didn't want to hurt her, but she wasn't taking me seriously, so I took a step forward just to fake her out. After that, everything moved so fast, I could hardly keep up, like a speeding train.

As I stepped forward, my foot got caught in my pants leg, which happened frequently since I had stolen pants that were three sizes too big. I fell forward and accidentally stabbed her left arm. At the same time, a gun went off in the right pocket of her coat.

When I finally opened my eyes, she was standing over me, her right coat pocket still smoking. "Now look at what you made me do," she said sticking her finger through a hole in her fur. "Do you know how much it's going to cost me to get this fixed? I've had this coat for 10 years, and planned to keep it another 10, and now -- "

"Lady!" I yelled from the ground, "what about' me?"

The gun had gone off and caught me in the right thigh, and I just knew I was dying.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she said. "It's just a flesh wound. You'll be up robbing folks again in no time," she said sarcastically. "How old are you anyway, about 16?"

"No," I answered angrily, holding my bleeding thigh, trying to fight back my tears, "I'm 12."

Her mouth dropped a little in surprise. "My, my . . .you're a big one for 12. You must eat a lot, huh?"

I was just about to tell her that I'd been thrown out of the house for that very reason, but I began to shake uncontrollably, maybe from the gunshot, maybe from the cold, I didn't know which.